Paradigm
by ChocolatyMoonLight
Summary: Ariadne finds herself once more in a job for the dreaming business, but this time a secret that she chose to forget begins to arise, and as time passes she begins to discover a shocking secret about her past. Read and Review, if you like.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This is my first fanfiction, but I'm not going to beg for you to be kind, cause frankly I just want your honest opinion (But no flamers, though). I have seen Inception for the umpteenth time, and I am still hopelessly in love with it, and even more hopelessly in love (almost to the point of stalking) with Joseph Gordon-Levitt. I mean, he can speak French, how is that not sexy? Anyway, I'm not going to ramble on. I hope you enjoy my story, reviews are more than appreciated, though not mandatory.

Enjoy :)

Disclaimer: I do not own Inception

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Dreaming is an act of pure imagination, attesting in all men a creative power, which if it were available in waking, would make every man a Dante or Shakespeare.

~H.F. Hedge

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Ariadne knew all too well that the job had been a one-shot deal. But that didn't really stop her from hoping. Well, not really hoping, as much as being blindly optimistic when she knew all too well that her daydream of being called back into the dreaming business once more was just that- a daydream. Nothing more, not in any way based on solid fact or logic. Mark Twain once said something about optimist just being a dreamer, only more elegantly spelled. But that didn't stop her from indulging guiltily in her silly fantasies of getting to go under once more, the same way one might indulge on candy or ice cream. During her classes, she would doodle all sorts of beautiful buildings that could only be possible in a dream, just in case for some crazy reason she may get to go under again. But even if for some reason she did get a chance, it probably wouldn't even be with the same people. As far as she could tell, it was really only Arthur and Cobb who worked together consistently. And Cobb was away in America, so Arthur was probably lone-wolfing things now. As for Eames and Yusuf, it had appeared that they also were somewhat of loners, too (Although for Eames, the term _rogue _seemed a bit more appropriate). So, yes, while all logic was stacked against her, she continued to foolishly fantasize that someday she would receive a call from Arthur asking her if she would like to be the Architect for another job, even though she knew it would never happen.

Which was why she couldn't have been more surprised when she saw him waiting patiently for her at the university.

The day started out as monotonous and mundane as every other day after the Inception, the air icy, a gauzy membrane of fog stretching over the ground, and the sky an endless blanket of dismal, gray clouds (The weather in Paris was nothing short of dreadful during the winter months). She sat in Professor Miles' classroom, seven rows up, simultaneously focusing on his lecture while working on a sketch of a triangular building. Scientists could claim multitasking was impossible, but she'd beg to differ.

It was approximately four minutes and sixteen seconds before the end of class when she spotted something out of the corner of her eye. At first, it was just an inconspicuous tall figure in the hallway she assumed must be a trick of the light, but she quickly realized it wasn't, and did a double-take. No, it couldn't be him... Could it? Her heartbeat accelerated into an over-excited frenzy as she began to recognize the same pale, sculptured features that belonged to the infamous Point Man. At the same time, there was this nagging doubt, the rational part of her insisting there was no possible way it could be him. But her eyes told her it was. Unless Arthur had an identical twin brother...

For some reason she found herself having to stifle a giggle at the thought of Arthur having an identical twin brother.

Still, what _was _he doing there? There could only be a handful of reasons why he would be... To look for an Architect, maybe. Maybe he had a friend there he was going to visit. Maybe that friend was her. Oh, she wished it was her. But it didn't make much sense. Besides, it seemed more logical to pretend not to know each other after the job, just in case.

Suddenly, she realized everyone was getting up and leaving, and that she was the only one left sitting down. Her stomach dropped shamefully for a second. Fingers twitching and heart thumping, she hurriedly stacked her books atop one another, largest on the bottom and smallest on the top, and scooped them up into her arms.

But before she could even make her way towards the stairs that lead up towards the door, Professor Miles called her name suddenly. "Ariadne, could you please stay here for a second?"

She paused, then turned around and gingerly stepped towards his desk, eyeing a sheet of paper that was dangling off the edge and at the brink of falling. The childish thumping in her chest had morphed quickly into a pound, which was so loud in her ears she wondered for a quick moment if Miles could hear it. Theories and assumptions as to how her catching sight of Arthur could connect to Miles wanting her to stay after class whipped through her mind rapidly. But she still didn't know yet if they actually had anything to do with one another. She knew that she was just assuming that because they were both unusual they had to be connected.

"There's someone here who would like to talk to you." The professor said nonchalantly as he took a seat, scrubbing his glasses with a small cloth. "There he is!"

She turned around, and sure enough, it was none other than Arthur who came descending down the staircase. Without even thinking or realizing what she was doing, her hand shot into the pocket of her jeans in a frantic search for her totem. A sharp clawing feeling began to bloom in her ribcage as her fingers felt only denim and not the smooth surface of her bishop. Then she realized with a heavy plunging feeling in her stomach that she left it in her apartment.

"It's alright, I'm real." He reassured, the thin corners of his lips springing upwards in a slightly-amused smirk.

Ariadne met his dark gaze in a less light-hearted manner, still unsure of how to react to him suddenly showing up like that. Her mind was still battling over how to react to the whole situation. Surprised didn't seem to be the right word to describe the situation. Yes, she was surprised that he was there, but it seemed like there were other emotions swirled in with it. She had that kind of feeling, the kind where there was really no way to describe it to another person. The kind where it was kind of like a mixture of two or more emotions, but she couldn't name them.

"How can I be so sure?" Her lips barely moved as she spoke.

She quickly ran her eyes over his lean figure from his dark shoes to his slicked-back hair. It definitely looked like the same old Arthur. Same hair, same face, and even though he was wearing a peacoat, she was 99% sure he was wearing the same type of clothes he wore before underneath it. Maybe it was his demeanor that was different. He did seem a bit more... Light-hearted. But light-hearted didn't seem like exactly the right word. Nonchalant, that's better. He seemed a bit more nonchalant. Eerily nonchalant.

"What are you doing here?" She asked.

"We have another job, and I was wondering if you'd want to be the architect."

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Alright, there's the first chapter. Short, I know, but they'll get longer. Anyway, tell me what you think, if you liked it, if you hated it (though I hope you didn't hate it), whatever. I'll try to update soon. :)


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Alright, second chapter. Once again, not a very long chapter, but quality is better than quantity, right? Anyway, here it is, I hope you like it.

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We are not only less reasonable and less decent in our dreams... we are also more inteligent, wiser and capable of better judgment when we are asleep than when we are awake.

~Erich Fromm

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One torturously silent walk later, Ariadne and Arthur finally stopped at a small, streetside bistro with the words _Aprés Soleil_ above it in ornate, flowing script. They sat at a small table next to the window, where they could look outside and observe the uncrowded streets.

Fingers curled around the warm coffee cup, Ariadne glanced to her blueberry scone, which was still sitting on the porcelian plate waiting for her to take a bite out of it. _Why did I even buy myself that thing anyway? I hate scones? _she wondered, narrowing her eyes and leaning back. Her mind was still muddled with a web of theories as to what the job could be. More than anything, she wished she had her totem with her, she wanted to feel the smooth bishop clasped in her hand. Just touching it provided an inexplicable sense of comfort. At first, after the Fischer job, she kept it with her at all times. She performed so many reality checks it was borderline OCD. But as time passed, she finally began to fall back into the familiar mentality that she was, in fact, in reality. Her totem, she was ashamed to admit, had become a knick-knack that did nothing more than sit in her apartment and collect dust.

"So how have you been?" Arthur said, sitting down across from her.

"Good, I guess." She replied, grazing her thumbnail across the paper surface of her coffee cup. "I started dreaming again."

Arthur's thin lips spread a little into a smirk. "Good, good. You still keep your totem with you, don't you?"

Ariadne's stomach performed a nauseating little flip when she noticed the way his tone changed from casual to concerned. She didn't need ESP to understand that Arthur wouldn't approve of her leaving her totem in her apartment. His look said everything she needed to know. Eyebrow cocked, gaze searching for any signs of lying, his entire demeanor seemed to have changed in an instant.

"Um, yeah. I never leave home without it." She replied with a quick nod and a slight smile, scratching the back of her neck.

Then she remembered that touching one's neck was a sign of lying, and almost unconsciously, her hand returned to it's original position of being wrapped around the cup. She had no idea whether or not Arthur knew anything about body language, but she wasn't going to take any chances. The man had improvised a kick in zero gravity, there was no telling what he was capable of.

"So, what's the job you were talking about?" She said finally, body tensing with the realization that her question was completely random.

The feeling of excitement inside her had finally bubbled over and driven her to ask about the job. She was struggling enough to hide her child-like eagerness, the same sort of eagerness she used to get on Christmas morning when she was a little girl. It always seemed like every second passed by slower when she got like that.

"It's an inception." Arthur said bluntly, his lips barely moving as he spoke. "It's a bit similar to the last one."

She paused and allowed herself to process his words. At the sound of the word _Inception_, _three-layer dream _popped up in her head, and once again her stomach did that nauseating flip. The thought of a three-layer dream made another word shoot up in her head, a word that brought a swirl of different emotions, namely fear, doom, and anxiety.

_Limbo_.

"The mark is the CEO of GEMINI Incorporated, Antoine Charpentier. He's been diagnosed with terminal cancer, and he has nine to twelve months to live, so we're working with a deadline." Arthur explained, leaning forward a little.

Ariadne could have sworn she caught a whiff of cologne emanating off of him, probably something ridiculously expensive she had never heard of before. A gentle tingle bloomed in her stomach as she realized that what she smelled was in fact his cologne.

"The man who hired us is his brother, Jacques Charpentier. Jacques has been trying to inherit control of Antoine's empire, but Antoine is leaving it to his daughter, Mathilda, instead." He continued. "She has made it very clear that she does not want to inherit it, but he still wants to pass it on to her. What we need to do is convince Antoine to pass on the company to Jacques, instead."

"Does Mathilda know about this?" Ariadne inquired, her knee gently bumping against Arthur's for a quick second as she crossed her legs uncomfortably. "Sorry."

"No. We can't be sure, but we think that Mathilda is planning to completely dissolve the company once her father's dead." Arthur countered. "Jacques, on the other hand, plans to merge it with another company, DELTA Enterprises."

Pain was beginning to bloom in her chest because of the way her heart was pounding against her ribcage. Her lips parted in preparation to reply, then she paused, carefully considering her words. "W-what would I be designing?"

Ariadne tried to think about what would be a good dream layout for the job, even though she knew absolutely nothing about Antoine Charpentier. She hadn't even known he existed until now. Obviously she would need to learn as much as she could about him as fast as she could, since they had a deadline.

"Well, we don't have enough information on him to really decide on that yet." Arthur pressed his lips together in a look of resignation. "But I need to know now, do you want to be the Architect?"

The words burst from her mouth before she even gave it any thought. "Yes."

Arthur's lips stretched into a close-lipped smile, and she suddenly realized that he got dimples whenever he smiled. "Good. Be at the warehouse on Saturday, at ten."

They both got up and started towards the shiny glass doors that led outside, the moment still a surreal blur for Ariadne. Before Arthur stepped outside, he suddenly reached into his pocket and pulled out a small slip of paper.

"Oh, here." He said, handing her the slip. "In case you need to call me."

Ariadne nodded, unfolding the slip of paper. The numbers _618-3415 _were written across it in handwriting so neat and so precisely, she could have sworn that they had been typed. They even looked like they were in the font _Times New Roman_. Definitely Arthur's handwriting. It matched everything else about him.

"Bye." Arthur said to her, before promptly walking off.

Ariadne watched his lean figure slowly get smaller as he walked farther and farther away from her, the realization of what she had just done finally sinking in.

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There you go. Once again, I love reviews, they are my fuel, haha. Cya.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: **Here's the third chapter. Sorry it took me so long, I had an awful case of writer's block. But luckily I've recovered. So here you go. Reviews are always appreciated.

**Disclaimer: **I could say I own Inception... But then I'd be lying.

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Dreams are illustrations... from the book your soul is writing about you.

~Marsha Norman

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Ariadne stepped into the warehouse, unsure of what to expect. Most of what she felt was an eerie sense of deja vu as she realized the warehouse seemed to be completely unchanged since she last saw it. Every dingy, grimy lawn chair in the same position it was before, the tables still laid out with all sorts of papers sprayed across them, and the white board they used to write down ideas, which hadn't been erased, even after all this time.

The only thing different was the fact that the team was back.

Eames was stretched out haphazardly across one of the lawn chairs, the sleeves of his crumpled, lavender shirt rolled up to his elbows. Yusuf leaned against one of the tables with his arms crossed and a close-lipped smile on his round face, and he waved at Ariadne as she approached them. And Arthur, stoic as ever, sat in a plastic chair with a notepad and sleek brown pen in his hands.

"There she is!" Eames declared enthusiastically, grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

Ariadne smiled, stopping in front of the group of men. It did sort of feel like there was an emptiness in the room without Cobb, like a puzzle that was almost complete except for one single piece. A part of her was slightly disappointed by the fact that he wasn't going to be working with them anymore. In a weird way, she had almost seen him as a sort of father-figure or a mentor. But on a positive note, without Cobb, they didn't have to worry about Mal suddenly bursting into one of their dreams armed with an MG 42 machine gun.

"Arthur's seemed a bit perkier ever since you agreed to do this." Eames announced smugly, glancing towards Arthur.

The point man replied with a narrow-eyed glare and a raise of an eyebrow, as if to say _are you really that immature_?

The funny thing was that Eames lazy grin seemed to say _yes, yes I am._

"We're glad you're working with us." Arthur said quickly, leaning forward.

Ariadne suddenly realized she had unconsciously been fidgeting with her scarf, wrapping it around her fingers then loosening it repeatedly, and quickly folded her arms across her chest. She wanted to tell herself that the sudden reappearance of her nervous habit was simply because she was nervous about the job, but she knew all too well that wasn't it.

"So, what am I going to be building?" She asks suddenly, painfully aware that her question was awkard and exposed the nervousness she had tried so hard to conceal with a calm facade.

Heat began to build in her skin, and she glanced around the room, purposely avoiding the eyes of the men.

"Well, in order to decide that, we need to do some more research." Arthur replied with a condescending sort of pity in his voice, the kind that made her feel like a little kid trying to join a grownup conversation. "Really it's up to you, we'll get you the information we need. We know that on the third level we're probably going to need something similar to the fortress from the last job."

She nodded, a raw sketch of a convoluted fortress already forming in her brain. "So we're doing this similar to the last job?"

Arthur opened his mouth, but Eames spoke before he could say anything. "Pretty much."

"What about Limbo? We'll still be at risk of getting stuck down there, won't we?"

All three men exchanged pitiful glances and nodded at her slowly.

"Yes. Unfortunately the only way the dreams can be stable is if I add a sedative." Yusuf said with an apologetic tinge in his tone.

She nodded, realizing that she was twirling the scarf again. _Damnit_, she thought, crossing her arms once more. She had known all too well that they were still at risk of Limbo, but for some reason she still wanted to ask.

"What information do we have on our mark?" Eames said suddenly, almost as if he understood Ariadne's slight embarrassment.

"Well, we know that he and his daughter don't get along well." Arthur said, his dark eyes meeting Ariadne's for a fleeting second.

"Define _well_." The forger raised an eyebrow and stroked his stubble-covered chin thoughtfully, though she doubted there was actually much thinking going on other than ways to irritate Arthur.

"When she was a teenager, she tried to run away three times, she's stolen from him several times, and almost every time they meet up it's ended in an argument." He said bluntly, grabbing a piece of paper from one of the tables and handing it to Eames. "See for yourself."

Suddenly, she felt as if she had just been pushed out of the conversation. They had become preoccupied with their own matters, and she had been forgotten. She felt lost. Yes, she had some information, but that wasn't nearly enough for her to be able to design three different dream layouts.

"Hmm... She seems like a very interesting person. Could I have access to her somehow?" Eames concluded, straightening his posture and glancing around expectantly. "I bet she could play a big role in convincing Antoine to change his mind."

"Can I see?" She asked, and Eames handed her the paper.

It was an article, with a bold headline that read _Bad Blood in Charpentier Family_. Below the headline was a large picture of a young woman, whom she guessed could only be Mathilda Charpentier. She wasn't really beautiful, mostly just pretty, her eyes round and dark, her skin mocha-colored, and slightly swollen lips. Her nose was curved and somewhat large, probably her only flaw, but nonetheless she was definitely pretty.

The word _ballet _stood out among the rest of the words stuffed into the paper. _Mathilda is a member of the Paris School of Ballet, and has been cast in many lead roles of their performances over the past few years. Rumor has it that this may somehow have a connection to her tumultuous relationship with her father._

"She's a ballerina?" Ariadne said to no one in particular, looking up. "Maybe I could create a ballet studio, so his subconscious would bring in a projection of her."

Arthur raised an eyebrow and nodded at her. "That's a pretty good idea."

* * *

Ariadne dragged a freshly sharpened pencil across a blank sheet of cream-colored sketch paper, sketching out the rough draft of what was soon to be a professional ballet studio. Luckily for her, she knew all too well what a ballet studio looked like. When she was little, her mother used to dress her up in a leotard and tutu and drag her to ballet class, which she despised. But she was forced to go. It was finally when she was fourteen that her mother took her out of class, when they found out her feet would never grow normally due to damage from dancing on pointe. Even now, her feet were grossly misshapen and her toenails ached.

Suddenly, she felt a looming presence at her side, followed by a gentle nudge at her side, and glanced up to see Eames standing next to her.  
"What is it?" She asked, feeling tentative at the sight of his childish grin.

It was obvious he was doing his best not to burst out laughing, but she wasn't sure why.

"Don't look now, but it seems our point man fancies you a bit." He said under his breath, nodding towards Arthur, who was at the other end of the warehouse, writing something down in his notepad.

He looked focused as ever, eyes narrowed, lips downturned thoughtfully. The way he sat in that chair with that focused look on his face made him look like that statue _The Thinker_, except clothed.

"No he doesn't." She said with a roll of her eyes and returned to sketching, though she could have sworn she was feeling a giddy tingle in her stomach.

"Why? He's been in a much better mood ever since you agreed to this." Eames argued, pressing his large hands down on the table. "You can deny it all you want, but trust me, he has a thing for you."

She scoffed and kept her eyes locked on the sketch, a wispy strand of brown hair dangling in front of her face. _Maybe I should make it a bit bigger. _She wondered, but the thought was artificial and contrived, a vain attempt to convince herself she wasn't excited by what Eames said by focusing on something else. Thanks to the psychology courses she had recently taken, she understood painfully well that her feeble attempts really only meant that she was in fact attracted to the point man.


End file.
